


I Can Be Your Cure (I'm Giving If You're Asking)

by hvalasejan (Killjoy_Linnea)



Series: Trust (the Croatian Mess™) [3]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and Dejan is sad, everyone wants to help - Freeform, yes i promised angst and i deliver, Šime is anxious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:30:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killjoy_Linnea/pseuds/hvalasejan
Summary: Dejan wakes up when Šime gets out of bed. He watches in silence as Šime disappears into the bathroom, then emerges again, opening the closet. Dejan says nothing as Šime picks out and puts on his clothes. When he’s done and turns around, he catches Dejan’s eyes and immediately looks away. Dejan can’t help but frown at the uncharacteristic reaction. Something has been off about Šime for days now. Dejan can’t for the world of him figure out what it is.OR, Šime gets really anxious sometimes, and when he can't control his thoughts, he lets them convince him that Dejan doesn't love him. Everyone pitches in to solve the mess, in more or less visible (or helpful) ways. Zlatko really wants to focus on football, thank you very much.





	I Can Be Your Cure (I'm Giving If You're Asking)

**Author's Note:**

> This took so fucking long, but it also is so fucking long so you know, you're welcome. Thank you for all the love and support babes!
> 
> This also... isn't as good as it could have been, but you know when you get to the point where you have to stop obsessing and just publish? That's where I am.

Dejan wakes up when Šime gets out of bed. He watches in silence as Šime disappears into the bathroom, then emerges again, opening the closet. Dejan says nothing as Šime picks out and puts on his clothes. When he’s done and turns around, he catches Dejan’s eyes and immediately looks away. Dejan can’t help but frown at the uncharacteristic reaction. Something has been off about Šime for days now. Dejan can’t for the world of him figure out what it is. In the beginning, he thought Šime was just having a bad day and therefore did not push for information. Everyone should be allowed to have a few bad days. They have still gone to bed together. They haven’t had sex in these off-days as Dejan had decided to call them, but hey, he is pretty sure a break was doing them good, rather than bad. Now, as the tension in the room builds, Dejan wishes he could remember what first made him notice something was wrong. Maybe then, he would be able to pinpoint what made Šime react like this. Pull back from him, like this. 

“You’re up early,” Dejan says, his voice drowsy with sleep. Šime picks up his phone from the nightstand.

“Yeah,” he replies and heads for the door. “I’m having breakfast.”

“If you hold on two seconds I’ll come with you,” Dejan says, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, trying to stifle a yawn. 

“No!” 

 

The exclaim is immediate and Dejan looks up at Šime in surprise. Šime seems a bit surprised himself, and starts to backtrack;

“I mean…” Šime struggles to find words, looking at the floor. “I’m having breakfast with Perišić today. Out. So, I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

He puts his hand on the door handle and presses down. Dejan ignores the stab of pain in his chest and gives it one last try to get a normal reaction from Šime. 

“Hey! he calls, and Šime stills. “No kiss goodbye?”

Šime’s shoulders rise with tension and he doesn’t turn around as he says; “I really gotta go.”

Dejan swallows with great difficulty. Šime still waits, back still turned, as if he is waiting for Dejan to allow him to leave. That hurts, worse than Dejan wants to admit. He pushes back the question that is clawing its way through his mind and mouth and says quietly; 

“Alright. Have fun, babe.”

Šime pushes the door open and all but runs out. He’s out of view before it even closes. Dejan falls back down on the bed trying to process what just happened. It’s too early for heartbreak, any feelings at all, or to even bloody exist. 

 

-

 

It takes a while for Dejan to convince himself to leave the bed. After that, it takes a while to gather himself enough to face other human beings. When he gets down to the hotel’s dining hall, there are only a few teammates there. Mario Mandžukić is sitting alone by a table and Luka seems to be held up talking with someone by the buffé. Dejan isn’t sure if he’s leaving or arriving. He gets a plate of food, which looks delicious before walking over to Mandžu’s table. Mario smiles as Dejan approaches. 

“Hey Dejo! Where’s your boyf…” Dejan sends Mario a murdering glare and Mario quickly revises his sentence. “Where’s your boy, Vrsaljko?”

Dejan nods thanks. With Šime already on his toes, the last thing he needs is for Mario to announce their relationship to strangers in the dining hall. He sits down before answering, buying himself some time to decide whether he should play it all off or if he should tell Mario about the odd behaviour on Šime’s part. 

“He went out to have breakfast with Perišić, I think,” Dejan decides to reply. “I don’t know what’s going on with him though. I think he’s avoiding me.”

Mario looks at him for a while and Dejan knows that means he has already noticed the different energy between them. His smile fades slowly, leaving room for concern. After a huge sip of coffee, he asks;

“What do you think is the matter?”

“I’m not sure,” Dejan says. “I thought he was having a few bad days in general, but… it’s me. He’s weird around me. This morning he wouldn’t even look at me. Maybe he has changed his mind.”

Another plate hits the table, and Dejan looks up at Luka who is sitting down next to Mario. The captain definitely picked up their conversation, because he looks as concerned as Mario. He says nothing though, as he starts on his eggs. Dejan shifts his attention back to Mario, who leans forward.

“What do you mean that Šime could’ve changed his mind about?” he asks. 

Dejan swallows. The food on his plate is losing the appeal, as his stomach turns. 

“Me,” he says and shrugs in an attempt to conceal how much it hurts to even say it. Mario knocks back the rest of his coffee. There’s a brief pause. Dejan pushes his plate away and sighs. He can feel Luka’s and Mario’s gazes on him. 

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Mario asks sternly. Dejan looks over at him and can clearly see that he’s serious. Dejan doesn’t doubt that if he asked, Mario would go out right now to find Šime and corner him to demand some answers. It’s sweet, Dejan supposes, that Mario Mandžukić is asking if he needs to defend Dejan’s honor.

“No,” he says and shakes his head lightly. “But thank you for offering.”

Mario nods and picks up his phone. Luka offers Dejan a careful smile. 

“You know how Šime gets when he lets his thoughts run free. He’ll come around. Eat up, Dejo. You’ll need the energy for our practice later.”

Dejan stabs his fork at the eggs and thinks to himself that this is exactly the problem; he knows how Šime’s thoughts can race, the problem is that this time, Šime doesn’t want to talk to him about it.

 

-

 

Šime Vrsaljko feels like shit. It doesn’t help that his breakfast company, Ivan Perišić, has been complaining since they left the hotel. 

“Remind me again why we are not having breakfast at the hotel?” Ivan demands and leans back in the chair. He gestures to the windows facing the street. “Look! It’s raining now! It’ll be a great walk back.”

Šime glares at him across the table. “Because I wanted to see more of the town.”

He takes a sip of orange juice. It’s a good breakfast, really, he doesn’t understand why Perišić is complaining at all. A little rain can do them no harm. 

“Try that answer once more, with feeling,” Ivan huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you going to tell me the real reason, or do you want me to guess?”

“There’s nothing!” Šime barks and he sounds angrier than he is. “If you want to go, then go! I don’t need a babysitter!”

He puts his glas down with a bang, to emphasize his point. He really doesn’t need Ivan’s nagging. 

“Okay, okay,” Ivan backtracks, leaning forward across the table. “Calm down, bro.” 

 

The phone sitting on the table top buzzes and Ivan reaches for it, giving Šime a moment to breathe and think and react without having Ivan’s full attention on him. He feels like he can’t breathe properly. Anxiety and guilt is clawing at him. He knows that avoiding Dejan isn’t helping the situation at all, but he just can’t stand to be around him right now. The tournament is quickly coming to an end and Šime feels like if he doesn’t distance himself from Dejan now, he won’t be able to leave him at all. Everything beyond this tournament is unknown and Šime fears this can go no other way than Dejan breaking up with him. They play for different clubs, in different countries. How are they supposed to make that work? Is Dejan even willing to make the effort? The thought of him not wanting to sacrifice that time and effort for Šime makes Šime’s stomach turn. He has to do this. If he’s going to survive being broken up with, then there’s no other choice. Unhelpful as always, his mind provides him with the image of Dejan earlier in the morning, lying in bed with a hurt look in his eyes. Šime wills it to go away. He knows that this behaviour is not going to make it hurt less. It’s already hurting like hell. 

 

“I don’t mean to pry,” Ivan says, his tone more soft now. He puts his phone back down. “But there is obviously something wrong, and I want you to know you can talk to me.”

Šime doesn’t say anything. He briefly wonders why Ivan suddenly changed his tone, but he doesn’t get to dwell on it for long until Ivan speaks up again. 

“Are you avoiding Dejan?” The question is so careful that Šime wants to be angry, but fails and quickly falls into feeling completely inconsolable. He knows brilliant things don’t last forever, that’s how life is. He shouldn’t have gotten attached, he reminds himself, he has himself to blame. He must trust that a higher power has a plan for this too. It’s going to hurt, but a lot of things in Šime’s life has hurt and he has gotten through them. He’ll get through this. He’ll forget how it feels to exist by Dejan’s side, how it makes everything exciting, how it makes him feel more alive than ever before. He’ll forget how well they know each other - mentally and physically - and he’ll forget how Dejan’s kisses taste. Šime buries his head in his hands. He won’t start crying in this café, god damn it. 

“Maybe,” he says, not even trying to deny it. “But I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Ivan nods and Šime tries to ignore the concern that’s radiating from his friend. 

 

-

 

Lunch is almost unbearable. Šime pulls Perišić and Vida down on either side of him at the table, not leaving any consideration for Dejan. Dejan, in his stubborn glory, sits down opposite to Vida, as the seat opposite to Šime is already taken by Mandžu. Dejan doesn’t try to directly address him at the table and Šime is thankful for it. Even though Dejan is silent, and barely eating Šime notes, he can feel his gaze burning into him when he’s looking at anyone but Dejan. As soon as he is finished with lunch, Luka approaches him. 

“Everything alright, Šime?” he asks casually. Šime eyes him suspiciously, but can’t decide whether his captain knows about his relationship issues or not. 

“Yes, everything’s good,” Šime says, glancing at Dejan who is still sitting at the table. He has his phone in his hand, staring at it intensely. Šime figures he should make his escape before Dejan’s leaving as well. 

“Did you need anything?” he asks Luka and he regrets how harsh it sounds. 

Luka frowns a little. “No, I just wanted to check up on you.”

“Thanks,” Šime says, his cheeks burning. “See you at practice.”

Luka doesn’t have time to answer before Šime flees. He usually favor the stairs over the elevator, but this far into the tournament, his body is protesting every time he moves. He goes to Mandžu’s and Vida’s room, knowing Perišić is also there for the afternoon.

  
  


“Šime, have you moved in here without telling us, or what is going on?” Vida asks as Šime is let in by Perišić. Vida’s lying on one of the beds, not even looking up as Šime enters. Perišić returns to lounging in an armchair, as Šime crosses the room. He still looks concerned, so Šime decides to ignore him. 

“I’ll leave if you don’t appreciate my company,” Šime says, glaring at Vida instead.

Vida huffs and answers without taking his eyes off his phone. “Vrsaljko, you know I adore you, that was not what I said.” Šime decides that’s a good enough answer.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for weeks after this…” Šime groans, slowly lowering himself down on the couch next to Mario. Mario makes a face. 

“Dude. No. I don’t want to know,” he objects.

Šime gives him an unimpressed look. “From playing football, Mandžukić! I’m so exhausted I don’t know how to get off this couch again.”

“We still have another game to go,” Perišić says from the armchair. “We need to be at full capacity.”

“Get me on the pitch and I’ll run a thousand miles more,” Šime says, leaning his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. He knows he can do it, but the dull pain is a constant presence in his body now and even though he hates to admit it, he’s a little relieved the tournament will be over soon. He bets they all are. Everyone is tired, sore and in pain. They’ll do their best in the next game, and their best is going to be pretty darn good, he’s sure of it. There’s nothing they won’t do for their country and their captain, who has shown the way forward so many times before. The football aspect of his life is pretty much the only thing Šime has under control right now, so he feels confident that he’ll be able to contribute with every last ounce of energy left in him. 

“Has anyone checked in with Luka? He seemed to be in a lot of pain after the last game,” Šime points out, looking around the room. He leaves out the fact that he had the perfect opportunity to ask Luka how he was earlier, but instead ducked away. 

“I’m fairly sure Rakitić is constantly checking in with him so let’s not worry about it,” Vida says with a grin. Mario huffs, trying to hold back a laugh. 

“You have a point,” Šime smiles. 

“On the subject of… I don’t know, hookups, where is Dejan?” Mario asks, sounding a bit too innocent. He throws a hard look at Šime, confirming that he knows exactly what Šime is doing. “I haven’t seen you two together for days. He was looking for you earlier.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Šime says, immediately in defense. His cheeks are heating up again. Guilt tugs at his heart. He thinks of the text message from Dejan that has spent the whole day unread. He reminds himself of all the reasons why he’s doing this. Mario looks at him for a long time before shrugging. 

“Sort it out, mate, we don’t need distractions,” Perišić says with a careful smile. Šime gives a weak nod. Ivan’s right, he needs to stop being such a coward. Šime has always been hard on himself, and now, knowing that he’s doing something unfair, his mind takes the opportunity to push him to his knees mentally. He’s constantly torn between voice urging him to man up and break the relationship up himself, and the other voice quietly telling him to wait it out and do everything he can to survive it.

“I wanna play video games,” Vida announces and rolls off the bed, and just like that, the topic is changed. It doesn’t help though, Šime feels like he’s still holding his breath.

 

-

 

“Lovren!” Dalić shouts from cross the pitch. “Step it up! Where’s your head at?!” 

Dejan raises his hand in acknowledgement, trying not to turn on his heel and bolt for the locker room. He’s not angry, no, he’s desperate. Šime has continued to ignore him all day and it’s really starting to hurt. Dejan is starting to think he’s going to implode if he doesn’t get to talk to Šime soon. There’s no way he can play a game in this state. If it hasn’t resolved itself by tomorrow morning, he will take Mandžu up on his offer to help. Šime might be able to run from him, but if Mario lends a helping hand, Dejan will have Šime alone in a room in under fifteen minutes, he’s sure of it. Luka would also help, for the sake of the team if nothing else. The thought comforts him - having a deadline to work against, and a next step to put into place. Vida shoots a pass and Dejan races to get where he’s supposed to be. He misses it by a meter. He curses, out loud, and even Šime looks up at him from across the pitch. Dalić blows the whistle and the team starts to wind down together, jogging around the pitch. One by one, they fall into the group, lead by Luka, except for Šime, who falls out of it. He heads for the locker room. Dejan notices Dalić throwing longs looks after Šime as he departs. Dejan contemplates. A hand clamps down on his shoulder. 

“Go after him,” Mario says. “I’ll keep the team out here for as long as I can. Luka’ll help.” Then he’s gone, yelling at their captain to get his attention. Dejan takes a deep breath and runs after Šime. 

 

The locker room is quiet. Šime has his back to the door and if he notices Dejan entering, he doesn’t do anything to acknowledge it. Dejan hesitates by the door. What if he’s done something wrong? What if he’s correct and Šime doesn’t want him anymore? He pushes the thoughts away, throwing his entire attention span at Šime. He stands so incredibly still that there’s no way he hasn’t heard Dejan enter. It’s like he’s waiting - like he did this morning. Waiting for Dejan to take the first step, make the first move. Dejan knows how to do that. 

“Šime?” he asks gently, making sure his presence definitely known. Šime doesn’t react and Dejan grows cold with fear. Šime’s shoulders, tense and up by his ears, slump, like he’s just let out a huge breath he was holding. Dejan reaches out and puts a hand on Šime’s shoulder. 

“I can see that you’re hurting,” Dejan says quietly. “Let me help you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

It’s strange to see Šime vulnerable like this. They are vulnerable in each others presence a lot, but not like this. Šime turns and there are tears in his eyes. He has a tortured look on his face that Dejan simply doesn’t know how to respond to. 

“Can you not do this here?” Šime asks, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want to the team to see me like this.”

Dejan takes his hand off Šime’s shoulder and reaches for his hand instead. Šime pulls away. 

“I just want to know what’s upsetting you?” Dejan tries and he despises the fact that it sounds like he’s begging. “Please, Šime. Have I done something wrong?”

 

Šime smiles, and it’s not like Dejan has never seen it before. It’s the opposite of Šime’s natural smile, shining with happiness and mischief. This one is distraught and almost mocking. Šime is trying to hold it together, trying to look cruel instead of vulnerable, but Šime has never been cruel and they both know it. 

“Not yet,” Šime says and the smile twists into a sob. Dejan frowns at the words. He wants to reach out and pull Šime to his chest, but he resists the urge. He doesn’t get the opportunity to put two and two together, before Šime explodes. 

“There’s just one game left, Dejo! One game! Then the tournament is over! We’re… we’re over.” 

Dejan stops. He simply stops - blinking, breathing, moving. He watches as Šime bites into his lower lip, trying to bite back the tears that are nevertheless falling now. Šime throws his arms out. 

“I can’t take it anymore. Waiting for you to break up with me.” He pulls his hands through his hair in a violent enough way that it must hurt. Dejan’s mind is racing. He can’t think of a single thing he’s done to make Šime think he’s going to break up with him. He can’t come up with a single person who would intentionally plant that thought in his head either. He blinks, slowly getting taken over by nausea, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. Dejan is suddenly struck by the urge to just get out and run. Run away, far away, from this. From Šime. From everything that doesn’t make sense. This is not what he thought the conversation would boil down to. He feels foolish, not being prepared for it. The thoughts swirl through his head at an alarming speed, yet it feels like time stands still in the quiet locker room. 

 

Šime throws his arms out. “Would you just fucking say something?!”

“Why would I break up with you?” Dejan asks. He doesn’t have time to think it through, the question just rolls off his tongue like it was the only option. Maybe it is. Šime stares at him and let his arms fall to his sides again. 

“Why wouldn’t you?” he asks so quietly that Dejan steps closer to hear better. “Look at me! And we… we play for different clubs, in different countries and…” Šime trails off and to be honest, Dejan isn’t sure whether Šime is trying to convince himself to Dejan at this point. No matter which one, he is not succeeding. Šime steps forward, putting his hands on Dejan’s cheeks, letting them slides down his neck, to rest on his shoulders. 

“It’s okay,” he says, though it’s really not. “I’ll be fine.” He will not be fine. Possibly ever again. He closes his eyes, his hands falling from Dejan’s shoulders. Dejan catches them in his own, squeezing them.  An unpleasant thought strikes Dejan. 

“Šime. Look at me. Please.” He’s begging again and this time he doesn’t care. Šime looks at him and that’s all that matters. Dejan takes a breath.

“Do you want me to break up with you?” he asks. “I’m just trying to understand, I’m not… I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to break up with you. But if that’s what you want, then I’ll respect it.” 

Šime looks at him for a long time. There’s nothing but the sound of their breaths, the quiet sound is thundering in Dejan’s ears as he waits for Šime to answer. 

“What do you want, Šime?” he asks again, careful and quiet. 

“I don’t want you to leave me,” Šime says. He sobs and Dejan can’t help himself any longer. He pulls Šime into an embrace and Šime leans on him and cries. He grabs Dejan’s jersey like it’s a lifeline.

“Why would you ever think I’d want to leave you?” Dejan whispers. “That’s the last thing I want. No distance is going to stop me, if you want me… I love you.” 

Šime cries. 

 

Šime rests his head on Dejan’s shoulder. Dejan just holds him, swaying slightly from side to side. Just as Šime calms down, the door is ripped open and in the doorway stand Mario Mandžukić and Luka Modrić. Both of them stop immediately and take in the scene before them. Dejan can hear the chatter from the rest of the team behind them. Šime doesn’t look up, he buries his face in the crook of Dejan’s neck. Mario pushes Luka into the locker room then slams the door behind himself, to surprised and irritated shouts from the team. Dejan looks from Luka to Mario and back. 

“Who is it?” Šime mumbles almost inaudibly. 

“It’s Lukita and Mandžu,” Dejan answers. Luka steps forward at the sound of his nickname.

“Are you okay?” he asks carefully. Dejan tries to shrug, but it’s somewhat hindered by Šime leaning on him. Šime looks up at their captain. His eyes are red and there are clear tear tracks on his cheeks. 

“I’m okay,” he says, but his voice breaks. “We just need some time. I don’t want the team to see me like this.” Dejan strokes Šime’s back in a supporting manner. 

“I’d love nothing more than to give you two some space, but the team needs the room. We can’t stay here anymore,” Luka explains. His smile is not as much a smile as it is an apology. 

“Did you get your shit sorted out?” Mario asks worriedly. 

“Yeah, we’re okay,” Dejan replies, looking down at Šime. “I think?”

Šime nods. Luka takes off the hoodie he’s wearing and hands it to Šime. 

“Put it on,” he says, before turning to Mario. “Can you walk out with them and make sure no one bothers them on the way outside? Just get them into a cab back to the hotel.”

Mario nods, sending a smile to Dejan and Šime, the latter having pulled up the hood of Luka’s hoodie. 

“I’ll swing by later,” Luka tells Dejan, who only nods in response. He’s thankful to have friends like these. He puts an arm around Šime’s shoulders and together they exit the locker room, still in their gear. The chatter from the team dies down as the door closes behind them, but Dejan doesn’t look over his shoulder to meet their curious looks.

“Get in there and shower, we don’t have all day!” Mario barks at them and then there’s scrambling and shouting again. Mario catches a cab for them, tells the driver where they’re going and pays in advance. As Šime gets into the back of the cab, Dejan hovers by the door. 

Mario meets his eyes and nods. Dejan’s nods back. There’s no need to say anything, Mario already knows. Dejan doesn’t know what he did to deserve all these blessings. He hops into the cab and Mario slams the door shut from outside. Šime looks out the window, but he reaches out and takes Dejan’s hand. It’s enough to make Dejan bite back a few tears of his own. 

 

-

 

They are both tired when they get back, but Šime feels like he’s finally processed the fact that Dejan is not going to break up with him. In hindsight, he can’t believe the thought crossed his mind. How could he think Dejan didn’t feel it too? How perfect they are together? How their hands were made for each other? That every second by each other’s sides are pure bliss? How could he ever have thought that Dejan’s world wouldn’t stop turning without him?

“I’m sorry for wasting our time, when we have so little left,” he says as Dejan closes the door to their room. Dejan shushes him. Instead of properly answering, he unzips Luka’s hoodie and pulls it off Šime’s shoulders. Šime doesn’t protest, he grabs the hem of Dejan’s practice jersey and pulls. Dejan raises his arms so Šime can take it off. He throws it on the floor and steps out of his shoes. They take turns, slowly undressing each other. There’s no rush today. Once they’re both finally naked, Dejan takes Šime’s hand and leads him to the bathroom. The shower is roomy, it’s not made for two, but there’s enough space for them not to feel crowded against each other. Šime turns on the water and turns up the heat. It’s a wordless act and Šime’s grateful. They’ve talked, not enough and too much at the same time, and there’s something comforting in letting their actions speak for them. There’s nothing implied in the way Dejan pulls him closer, kissing him slowly. There’s nothing uncertain Šime’s hands roaming over Dejan’s body, feeling his arms, his chest, his hips like it is the first time he touches them. It’s rare for them to take it slow, taking time to only care for each other and it’s exciting in a new kind of way. Šime is suddenly acutely aware of how many days it’s been since he touched Dejan like this. Since he allowed himself to have this. Dejan didn’t object.

 

-

 

After drying off, they go directly to bed. They just lie there, looking at each other for a long time before Šime opens up. 

“I love you too, you know?” he says and smiles almost bashfully. Dejan’s sure it’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. 

“I didn’t say it back, earlier, but I… I love you,” Šime continues. “I’m sorry for avoiding you, and for letting my thoughts get the best of me. Sometimes… Sometimes it’s like I can’t control them, and I get very harsh on myself, and then it’s… things like these happen.”

“It’s okay,” Dejan replies, caressing Šime’s cheek. “I’m glad that we sorted it out. But next time, please come to me as soon as those thoughts appear?”

“I’ll try,” Šime says. “It’s the best I can do.”

“Then that’s enough,” Dejan says. He moves closer, and throws his arm around Šime’s shoulders. Šime cuddles up on Dejan’s chest, as he usually does. 

“I would never leave you,” Dejan whispers to him. “These last few weeks has been the best of my entire life, Šime, and they would have been the best even if we had lost every single game. Even if we lose the next game… I’ve still won you, and I’m starting to realize maybe that’ll be the most important win of my entire life.”

Šime looks up at him, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t won Champion’s League yet…”

“Asshole!” Dejan laughs. “I’m trying to be serious here!”

“I know,” Šime says, smiling widely. He rolls over and props himself up on his elbows to be able to lean in for a kiss. It’s lazy and messy and Dejan wouldn’t want it any other way. A knock at the door make them both pull back. Šime falls back against the pillows with a deep sigh.

“Will they ever just go away?” he asks the ceiling. 

“I’ll deal with them,” Dejan says, slips out from under the covers and pads to the closet. 

“Wrong door,” Šime teases him and Dejan simply sticks his tongue out in response. He pulls on a pair of underwear and some shorts before heading out. 

“Hey!” Šime calls from the bed and Dejan turns to looks at him. He has a funny look in his eyes and Dejan tilts his head to ask ‘what?’. 

“No kiss goodbye?” Šime asks. Dejan grins triumphantly and walks back. He presses his lips against Šime’s with intent, and Šime puts his hands on his neck, pulling him closer. Dejan is forced to kneel on the bed as to not fall over Šime. Gently, he puts his hand on Šime’s chest and presses back. There’s another knock, decisively more aggressive. 

“I’ll be back,” Dejan says as Šime pulls away, pouting. 

 

Dejan isn’t prepared to see his coach and his captain standing outside his and Šime’s room, both of them looking worried. As Dalić notes the lacking amount of clothes Dejan is wearing, his expression turns more irritated than worried.

“Is Vrsaljko in there?” he asks, short and hard. 

“Yes, coach,” Dejan answers, while glancing accusingly as Luka. Luka does look apologetic, but says nothing. 

“Don’t look at Modrić as if this is his fault!” Dalić says and Dejan’s eyes immediately snap back at him. “You did horrible at practice today, Lovren. As did Šime. I’m thinking the two might be connected, right?”

“Yes, coach,” Dejan answers again, slightly shell-shocked by the coach’s approach. 

Dalić nods. “I want to speak to both of you. Inside. Now.”

Without further due, he reaches behind Dejan and opens the door. Dejan moves out of the way and Dalić enters. 

“I tried to avoid this,” Luka whispers to Dejan as he passes him to follow Dalić inside. Dejan hurries after them, slamming the door behind him. 

“Coach?” Šime sits up in bed, pulling up the sheets to cover himself. He gives Dejan a wide-eyed look and Dejan shrugs, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“This is not what it looks like…” Šime tries desperately, but Dalić holds his hand up to silence him.

Dalić pulls the hand through his hair and sighs. “Firstly, you two seem to be on better terms again. We’ve all noticed the… fraction. I’m happy for you, but as a coach, you are worrying the hell out of me! Does anyone want to explain what the hell happened at practice today?”

Dejan looks at Luka, who shakes his head. “It’s a valid questions, guys.”

“I’m sorry,” Šime says, but Dalić cuts him off again. 

“I didn’t ask for apologies, Vrsaljko, I asked for an explanation. This, what you two got going here, is not allowed to affect your performance on the field. Am I making myself clear?”

“It won’t happen again,” Dejan looks straight into Dalić’s eyes as he says it. “It won’t happen during this tournament, or any tournament after this. I think I’m speaking for both me and Šime when I say that this taught us a lot and we are both aware that we’ve showed some seriously lacking discipline today. Had it been game day, we would have let our team down if we underachieved because of personal problems like the ones we’ve been dealing with these past few days. I’m promising you, coach, and you, captain, that this relationship will never affect our game like it did today.” 

Dalić nods, then turns his gaze to Šime. 

“Yes, I give you my word. This won’t happen again,” Šime assures him. 

“Good!” Dalić exclaims and offers them a smile. “I’ll leave you, you are obviously busy, and again, I’m glad that you have found a solution to your problems.”

“Thank you,” both Šime and Dejan reply at the same time. Dejan glances over his shoulder at Šime and smiles. As soon as Dalić leaves, Luka’s indifferent expression falls.

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

“Yes, we’re okay again,” Šime says, wrapping his arms around Dejan’s chest and leaning his chin on Dejan’s shoulder. “Thank you for helping out earlier.”

“I’d do anything for you both, and you know it,” Luka smiles and there’s something comforting in his kind eyes, Dejan finds. 

“Tell Mandžu we’re fine, yeah?” Dejan says, as Luka turns to leave. 

“I’ll send it to the group chat,” Luka says and immediately throws a hand over his own mouth. His eyes widens and Dejan feels the pressure of Šime’s chin disappearing off his shoulder. 

“What group chat?” he asks indignantly. “Luka, is there a group chat about me and Dejan?”

Luka sprints towards the door and Dejan runs after him. The midfielder is far quicker though and the door slams right in Dejan’s face. Dejan rips the door open and calls after Luka, the only relevant question on the subject.

“What’s it called?!” 

“Save Sejan!” Luka laughs at him, before seeking shelter in his and Rakitić’s room. Dejan closes the door carefully. He shakes his head and climbs out of his clothes to rejoin Šime in bed. 

“Sejan,” Šime mumbles as he cuddles back up to Dejan. “I like it.”

Dejan laughs. It’ll all be okay, in the end. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you think this series is over, you are mistaken, and if you think Dejan and Sime won't pester the rest of the team about their group chat, you are a fool. i think the next one will be more light-hearted.
> 
> love you all.


End file.
